Representations and Realizations
by nothing-rhymes-with-ianto
Summary: For the prompt "If a hug represented how much I loved you, I would hold you in my arms forever." Jack realizes Ianto's place. Takes place just after the events of Something Borrowed.


Sometimes Jack marveled at Ianto's ability to compartmentalize, to disassociate, to push emotions down and down (until they all exploded outward at a later date, but who thinks about that?) and hide them in order to do his job, and sometimes it pissed him off to no end. Like right now.

He knew Ianto was taking everything pretty hard. His near-death at the hands of Dale in the warehouse, the missing two days, the loss of Owen, and Owen's condition, the weird state their relationship had been in since he'd gotten back. He knew all these things, and yet….He want to slap himself. Or better yet, force himself to abstain from all forms of pleasure for a month. He'd seen all these things and still had the gall to dance with Gwen, to make eyes at her and charm her and indulge her fantasy that it could have been their wedding.

He'd felt the nervous disapproval in Ianto's touch, in the way the Welshman had very nearly claimed him in his interruption of the dance. Ianto hadn't really spoken to him, but Jack could feel the exhausted tension in his back, the angry, rebuking tautness of his stance, the short, sharp breaths of annoyance and ownership in his ear. And still he'd gazed after Gwen as if dancing with Ianto was like indulging a small child.

He knew Ianto would suspect him of wanting him simply because Gwen was now out of reach. Jack knew that was bullshit. He could snap his fingers and Gwen would come running, even now. The only reason he'd ever flirted with Gwen was because he knew he couldn't have her. She was a challenge, an obstacle, and a false one at that, but he'd always enjoyed challenging himself. He would never fall in love with her, he knew that. She put him up on a hero's pedestal in a way that Ianto refused to do. Because Ianto saw his faults, saw his lapses of judgement and his anger and his depression, his moments of suicide and his blind raging regret. Ianto saw through that gleaming smile. He saw the man behind the mask. Gwen didn't. He could never be the pure hero she saw him as.

And now, now they were sitting in a room in the little hotel everyone's rented for the night, since getting home without falling asleep at the wheel was practically impossible. And Ianto was sitting on the bed, hands on his knees, still clothed, staring at the floor. His face was blank. There was nothing. Jack stood in a corner, staring out the window, wondering what to do.

He sighed. "Ianto…"

"Don't, Jack. Don't tell me I'm different. Don't tell me you love me more than you love her. Don't tell me you've always wanted me more than her because we both know that's a lie."

Jack stepped back, feeling chastened, hurt. He walked over to the little radio and pressed buttons on his wrist strap until it stopped on the right station. He stepped in front of Ianto and held out his hand. The Welshman frowned at it, looking suspicious, before taking it and standing up. Jack pulled him into an embrace and began to sway slowly. They were silent for a while.

"Yes, it's a lie." Jack stated. Ianto stiffened, began to struggle to get away, but Jack held him fast. "It's a lie because you are different from each other. It's a lie because I knew I'd never be able to have Gwen. She has Rhys, but that's not the only reason. She only sees Captain Jack Harkness, the hero. Not Jack Harkness, the human being. You do."

Jack sighed again, this time cathartic. "And Ianto, you're the one who rushes to my side whenever I die. You're the one who I wake up to. Gwen was only there once, and only to reassure herself that what I told her was true. You…you're not there for yourself, not entirely. I can see it in your eyes. You're the first person who's cared that I can still die. I do not love Gwen more than you. I love the _idea_ of Gwen. The idea of somehow having a relatively normal life, despite the shit that Torchwood does to everyone. The idea of getting married. The idea of all the things I refuse to allow myself to have because I know I'll lose them. Ianto, you understand that."

Ianto nodded, his eyes still slightly wary.

"And I'm sorry for how I treated you at the wedding. I was just….caught up in memories, caught up in the realization that now she is well and truly out of my reach. You….I wasn't ready for you to come over. I wasn't ready to be vulnerable."

"And you are now?"

"As much as you want me to be."

Ianto nodded. "It's all right." Jones-speak for, _You don't have to bare yourself to me. I respect your memories, your privacy. You don't have to say it, not really. I know already. I know._

Jack pulled Ianto close. He thought back to all the times he'd done this, held Ianto to him gently, and knew he'd never be able to do it enough, never be able to do it enough times to show just how much he loved and appreciated and respected the young Welshman.

He realized with a start that, had he still been a marrying man (He wasn't, Lucia had taught him that lesson quite quickly), he would have wanted Ianto to be his. For the first time, he had someone who saw him as a man, just a man. No wonder he wanted to hold Ianto in his arms forever, to show him the eternity of his love. In Ianto's embrace, he felt _normal_, he felt _loved_.


End file.
